Into A New Darkness

Well, here I am in the caves region of Kentucky. Last week I shared about the trip I would be on with my new guy - seeing each other in person for the first time since we met several months ago. As I write this, we're a few days into our trip. He is lying next to me now, munching away on donuts while I write. I'm finally ready to share a bit more about this person with you all... particularly because you may know him more than you think - or at least his writing. He is our very own Tuesday featured writer on Widow's Voice - Mike. 

We met at Camp Widow East back in February. I sat down beside this guy at the meet & greet on Thursday night, and for the entire rest of the weekend we were inseparable. We shared our whole stories with one another and laughed more than either of us had in ages. Something certainly clicked... although I had no clue then that it would end up meaning I would fall for someone new and be sitting here states away on some whole other adventure. 

I've been saying for three years now that Drew would give me a really obvious sign about someone new coming into my life. And Mike and I have had many, many obvious signs. One of my favorites was just a few days ago, within hours of arriving in Cincinnati for our trip. He surprised me with a short ferry ride across the Ohio river, and on the other side was a little restaurant he took me to... called Drew's. Imagine the delight on my face, and the love in my heart. Those are the moments I know that Drew will always be a part of us - just as his wife Megan will be. And speaking of Megan...

We walk inside and sit down by the window. It's dead in there, no one but us, as it's around 2pm in the afternoon. I said jokingly "Just watch... our waitress's name will be Megan". And sure enough, this very friendly waitress walks up and introduces herself as... you guess it... MEGAN. We both look right at each other in total disbelief. At the end of our lunch, we told her the whole story of us, including their names, and she was as amazed as we were. We chatted a while and there even ended up being other unreal similarities... so we had to get a picture with her for that first crazy memory of this new adventure.

Yesterday we made our way to Mammoth Cave National Park – the main reason for our trip here. We picked this place because it is something we could not have done with our loves that died. Drew was claustrophobic in small spaces, and Megan was unable to due to her medical condition and the bacteria in the air in caves. It's a hard pill to swallow... but the truth is there. We WILL do things with someone new... Things we never could have experienced had our loves not died. Maybe that's one of the gifts they leave us... the chance to discover new adventures in a way we couldn't have done with them. With new eyes and new hearts. I like to think it is.

We did a few tours yesterday of Mammoth Cave, the first cave either of us have explored in years. As we gazed out into the darkness of the tunnels underground, that feeling of wonder and childlike excitement about the unknown filled us both. As we hiked around some 300 feet below the surface of the earth, I couldn't help but think of the expansive metaphor before us.

Two people who have gone through unspeakable darknesses on our own in life, now walking willfully and quite literally into the darkness together – knowing full well that to love again will inevitably mean to endure pain again. Yet we are doing so with a sense of wonder, not dread. It's not easy to do. There have been moments on this trip when I have broken down crying because of how new love is reminding me of the love I lost, and also of the fears of losing someone else. But even with all of that, with all we have both endured, how amazing it is that each of us is still able to see wonder in the darkness.

I have thought this weekend about enduring the journey through my own darkness for the past three years. I've thought about all the pain and fear I have encountered in the dark, and also all the amazement and wonder I have found there. Treasures that cannot be found above ground, but only in the most hidden depths of ourselves. Perhaps that is what the darkness of grief can bring us... a different appreciation for the dark and the light.

One thing is for sure, today I am very grateful. After traversing the dark alone, it is beautiful to have someone to journey into the darkness with me. Someone with their own darkness who is not afraid of mine. I suppose that is the best kind of person to find – one with a galaxy much like our own inside their heart. One who looks into the dark with wonder.

Minefields & the Miles Ahead

Next week is a very big week in my world. Early Thursday morning, I will be hopping on a plane to see this new man that has come into my life. Yes, something I haven't shared yet is that we live pretty far away from each other. I'll be sharing more of the details next week, but it will be the first time seeing each other again since we met several months ago.

So yup... not only am I beginning again, but beginning with distance. Because apparently, the universe decided just being widowed and dating locally was not a huge enough challenge on its own. The distance has created a whole other set of challenges, but also a few benefits. It has created safety for me in this very scary and fragile world of trying to love again after death. I've had a buffer zone, allowing me to keep my life here the same for the most part while gradually opening the door of my heart, just a small bit at a time. It has been a beautiful experience, but not without difficulty.

Let me tell you, as soon as I began to open my heart again, oh how the triggers came flooding in. At every small step of the way... on every day that I choose to open that door of my heart just a millimeter more to this new man, the triggers are there waiting to rush in. At first this scared the shit out of me. At first, I was so terrified of having the triggers climb inside my heart that I was triggering myself ABOUT having triggers. I was in fight or flight mode about it. And then something began to happen... I realized this person was still here. Still listening, still supporting, still loving me. Doing everything he could from a thousand-plus miles away to comfort me and acknowledge my feelings. And I remembered, this is what Drew always did for me. At each turn, when I met a trigger, I shared it and it was heard. This was how he helped me to heal my old wounds. And this new person is doing the very same thing. With his patient love, I am finding there is so much room for healing.

This past week has been a grand buffet of triggers. On Thursday night, he announced excitedly that it is now just ONE week until we will see each other. And underneath my excitement the trigger swooped in. Within moments I was in tears... because Drew died exactly a week before I was supposed to go visit him up north where he was working. One week before seeing each other. It was a trigger I didn't even see coming... but one that seems obvious now. Instead of shutting down about it, I opened up. I cried to my new guy, and I told him what I was feeling, and how scary it was for me. And he just reminded me that he will be there. Just a few minutes of feeling deeply heard... it passed right through.

There have been many others splintering off from this as we get nearer to the date... like thinking about having to say goodbye at the end of our trip. Not knowing if it might be our final goodbye, because after all, I didn't have any idea the last time either. I hate that new love means new triggers... but, I'm deciding it is worth it.

We are days away from our trip now, and I am gradually learning how accept the new triggers surrounding this whole thing. I am excited beyond belief, but also emotional. I know seeing him in person again will be a trigger. The physical closeness will be a trigger. The goodbyes will be a trigger. And likely a dozen other micro-triggers I won't have even considered.

I am very aware that I am traveling into what may look like a minefield in the next week. And there is something actually very exciting about taking that risk. The thing is, I think most of the fields we travel in life may only have one or two actual mines. Yet our triggers are like signs telling us there are hundreds... telling us to turn back, not move, there is danger everywhere, be afraid. If there is one thing my life with Drew taught me, it is to question those signs. To not listen to the signs of my triggers telling me to turn back, but instead decide that love is worth walking through the minefield for. LIFE is worth walking through the minefield for.

Drew was worth the risk of having my heart blown to pieces when he died. And it is worth risking the chance that I may be blown to pieces again. It is worth it to feel the messy, uncertain, electric energy of living life fully. It is worth deciding to trust even though I have no clue whether I will be hurt... just to feel the cool rush of aliveness pumping in my veins. I know now, that I can put myself back together again. That is a gift his death has given me. And I also know, that some of the most beautiful parts of life are waiting just on the other side of my fear. I am walking ahead... into that so-called minefield with adventure - not fear - on my mind.

Carrying the Grief Ahead

I've had little time to think in the past few days. I came down for the weekend to the beach a few hours south of where I live, with a bunch of friends. Like everything in this After Life, even the most ordinary stuff - like a beach trip - has significance and can feel heavy.

I woke this morning early to write this - all my friends still dozing away from a late night of fun. As I brew up a pot of coffee in the morning quiet, I am able to finally think things over.

It's been a great trip, but I have found myself having to really try hard to put on a smile. I am just having a diffiult time getting excited about things...

This morning, it hits me: All these friends who came down for the weekend... They are new friends. Friends I have met in the past year. Friends who never knew Drew. Even after almost 3 years, that can still be hard. It can still be hard to not wish he were here, and remember what it felt like when my partner was there on these kinds of trips with me... Where we could enjoy being that beautiful extension of one another in the company of others.

This was compounded by the fact that the new guy I am dating was not able to be here, and I was simultaneously wishing to share that with him too. And then finally, further compounded by the fact that we are staying at my in-laws' beach condo. The place where Drew and I had so many memories. And the forever strange reminder that his family is not only still in my life, but IS my family now too... Only he isn't here to get to enjoy that. 

Anytime there is a coming together of my new and old world like this - it stirs up the grief. He wanted so badly for us to be married and share a life together... And we just didn't get there, and while I may someday go on to have that with someone else... I will always be sad that it was a funeral - not a wedding - that united his life and mine forever. 

Grief: it's like a pack I've been carrying these years. At first it was too heavy to even walk with - for a long, long time. At first I could not fathom how I would ever be strong enough to carry it onto any forward path. And while I did become stronger, I'm discovering a lot of the forward movement has had more to do with lightening the load I carry.

I have been opening up this pack, day by day, taking things out of it - pieces of my grief. I've turned them over in my hands and heart. I've cried for them, held them, felt them, and then.... Finally, kneeled down to leave them on the ground as I walk ahead. 

The good news is that, after a few years of pairing things down, my pack IS getting lighter. And I AM stronger than when I started out. Even with a lighter load and a stronger back though, carrying the grief on the new legs of this journey is still exhausting. Sometimes the inclines get too steep and I have to slow down, or the storms of life cause me to have to hunker down a while. I am okay with that most of the time. He was worth it, IS worth it. But some of the time, I wish I could just leave the whole pack behind... Only I know there are vital tools for navigating in there that I must take with me.

Last night I ended up staying in while all my friends went out to the bar. I hesitated, almost forced myself to go out when I wasn't up for it. At the last minute though, I bailed and let them go out while I went to bed. Today I am already feeling a bit better overall.

I am reminding myself this morning that this journey is still challenging and there will be times when I need to take my pack off and rest a while. It may even happen in the middle of a social gathering or another inconvenient time... But the most important thing is to put that pack - and myself - first. To make room in my life to stop and open up my grief, and also to stop and look back over all the distance I've traveled so far... and be proud.

Complex Joy

©Kelly Rae Roberts

I struggle tonight with what to write here. Not because I have no words for my pain... but because lately, I have been... happy. And I am struggling to write about that. Lately, my new life has become one I genuinely love. It may not be the life I had with him - but it is rich and full... and to be completely honest, it is actually far richer and more full than the life I had when he was part of it. I am a deeper, healthier, more open hearted person. I have deeper relationships with everyone I am close to now and have kicked the unworthy ones to the curb. My artistic career, although very challenging and still in the fledging stages, is meaningful and fulfilling for me. While I still have my bad days and occasional triggers and there are still certain aspects of my life that I am working to change... for the most part, I have a very full and fulfilling life.

I have mixed emotions about this. How can I possibly love my life again? And furthermore... how can I possibly love this life even MORE? How could I choose this life over my life with him if given the choice? (And I would actually). And how do I not really feel bad about that? That's some really complex shit right there.

I don't feel bad for feeling happy. I feel like it is only making Drew happier to see me finally wanting to embrace joy more fully again. And I do believe I deserve happiness. So why does it feel so damn difficult to write about happiness. Why do I fear that it will sound like I am bragging or that I will alienate readers who are in a different place on their journey through grief? It shouldn't be so hard to write about this. But it does seem like happiness becomes a taboo subject when we are grieving. Like it's not okay to admit that you may actually have some joy still left in you. Heck, maybe - eventually - you find you have even MORE joy left in you than you'd ever had before. I think this is how I feel now... that my heart is even bigger since he died - and has room for both more sorrow and more joy.

I'm just going to close this up by saying, I think that is a wonderful thing... the thought that maybe we can find just as much joy in new ways and in a new life someday as we had in our old lives. Maybe holding onto this idea can help us along when things are rough and there isn't much joy. And the grander thought that maybe - as our hearts expand from the pain of loving them - we will find that their death has created the space in us to experience even greater joy than we could have ever known had they not died. It's a complex idea, for sure, but in my heart I personally believe - this was his greatest and most lasting gift to me.

Two Versions of Love

I have been thinking a lot lately about something Michele Neff Hernandez, our editor, said in a workshop over a year ago about finding new love. Back then, I was nowhere near wanting new love. But I knew someday I would want it. So I attended this workshop at Camp Widow in Tampa, and listened to what she had to say. The thing I remember most is her explaining that her new husband is the perfect fit for the new Michele. And her first love was the perfect fit for THAT Michele. She was two different women, and there was in fact a perfect match for each of them. 

I've held onto this bit of wisdom a long time. I like the idea of it, although I have not been able to grasp just what that feels like until now. How right she was. 

It's a very surreal feeling. I have this new person I've spent the past few months getting to know. A new energy. But also a familiar one. He is quite similar to Drew in a lot of ways. His character and integrity are rock solid. He and Drew would have been fast friends in fact, of that I have no doubt. He is kind, patient, ambitious and incredibly dedicated - just as Drew was. He's a goofball and a big kid at heart, just like Drew. But there are differences too. He is more creative, and more sentimental than Drew was. He's a talker and Drew was a bit more the silent type (I laugh at him frequently in fact for talking as much as I do... which is A LOT) Somehow, I always thought that "differences" would be a bad thing. That I would see someone new as "less than" Drew and end up comparing them a lot. I haven't been able to really see Michele's idea play out personally until now. So I have been very scared of that - of my love for Drew getting in the way of seeing and appreciating a new man. 

This hasn't been the case at all. It's exactly as she described to me two years ago. In fact, the differences between them have made me appreciate both of them even more. There are things I loved about Drew that the new guy doesn't share. And there are things about the new guy that I really love that Drew didn't share. I think that is the most surprising part of all... that there could be qualities in a new man I could love just as much... and the differences actually enhance the whole experience instead of diminishing it. 

It is plainly true, I am a new and very different person from the woman I was when Drew died. I'm sitting here right now wondering how on earth I got from June 12, 2012 to writing about some new man. This whole journey is surreal. But I am beginning to learn some new things about love. It is possible to have two matches... one for the woman I was, and one for the woman I am. And for neither of them to compete or be less or more than the other - just two different versions of the same beautiful thing: love. 

Are there are moments when I compare the two of them? Moments when I wish Drew was here instead? Moments when all of this feels upsetting and overwhelming and I just want to run to the arms of the one who is no longer here? Absolutely. I'm only human. And those moments are teaching me things too. Like that fact that this new person is in no way threatened by my love for Drew. Quite the opposite, we talk about him all the time. It is like they know each other... like we are all family. 

The last time I got upset and was feeling conflicted about the two of them, he said to me, "You are allowed to love Drew the very same amount that you love me. Forever. It never has to be any less, and it never will be, nor should it be". I cried, and I let my guard down completely for the first time in a long time. How beautiful it was to receive those words. To receive the love of this new man, only because Drew died. I did not know it was possible, but the love of this new man has actually made me feel Drew's love tenfold, and made me love him even more. And it has shown me that really, in the end, it is all just love flowing between us. Between Drew and I, between this new man and I, and between them, too. 

Into the Unknown...

©Sarah Treanor

Along with being a writer, many of you know that I'm an artist. You may also know, as I've sometimes shared here, that I've been working on a photographic series for the past year all about my journey through grief. What began as just a small idea, to take a self portrait every week and share it on my blog, has snowballed into something of a whole new direction for my life. I was only a hobby photographer before I set out on this journey.

Now, a year later, I am looking back and seeing just how much has changed... how much I have changed. I am just this week kicking off my first international show, in Rome. What the hell? And have won quite a few awards at recent shows for my work in this series. Looking ahead, I have goals to publish a book of the series and begin speaking about death and the healing power of creativity. A year ago, none of this was here. I was completely and utterly lost. And still very broken. Somehow, this project put me back together. It rebuilt me into someone new who has bold things ahead of her. It's exciting and really daunting all at the same time. I am frequently terrified of where this freight train is taking me and of whether or not I can handle it all.

"Still, Life" has been easily the most significant, most difficult and most life-changing project I have ever worked on. It has taken every ounce of me... creative, conceptual, technical, physical, emotional. There have been many many weeks when I just wanted to give up entirely. I cursed enough to make a sailor blush because the burden felt too big. I hit walls of resistance and would inevitably have no choice but to force myself to get up and shoot something, anything. I was consumed by anger for the fact that I am even in the situation to be doing a project all about death and grief. It has been a long and difficult journey. I don't think I need to make it apparent just how much this project has aligned with the challenges of grief itself. The struggles of creating this have so deeply gone hand in hand with navigating the waves of emotions from losing my fiance.

There have also been good things. The small glimmers of hope when I finally begin to see an image taking shape that I have worked hard on. The bright and brilliant moments of winning awards for the work that I could and would not be doing if it was not for him. The quiet moments of deep meaning when someone writes or shares with me how much one of these images resonated with them on their own journey with grief. It's those quiet moments especially when I realize that telling my story is helping someone else to tell theirs. Which also aligns with the journey of grief itself.

Reflecting back, I realize that this project has been not only a physical manifestation of one woman's inner voyage through grief, but also an example of the simple power of telling our stories... however we choose to tell them. It is in telling my story that I've been able to journey deeper into it, deep enough to find the gifts within the darkness. Telling my story is what pulled me back out of the darkness - by connecting me with others who feel it too. Allowing my story to be heard heals me, strengthens me, and teaches me all the time that death has given me something very valuable - knowledge and wisdom and experience with which to help others. Death has given us all that.

This project came to a close for me this week... quite unexpectedly. I sat down to write about the next image, and instead, a final statement ended up pouring out of my fingertips - which you can read here on my blog. By the time I was finished typing, I was in shock. It happened almost without me... as if some part of me willed the thing to come to a close. It was a sharp reminder not only of how I cannot control the creative process, but of how I cannot control life... or when things may end or begin in my world. It has of course stirred me up. I've been emotional the past few days. I'm sensing a need for some time to grieve and let go of the project itself (or at least the initial year of it) just as I would let go of any chapter of my life.

I know deep down I was ready for this to come to a close. I have been ready for a new chapter to begin in my artistic world but scared to initiate the change. And so I suppose I just got pushed into it somehow. It was certain: I was done being at the end of something, and ready to be at the beginning of something else. A very very huge statement in this journey as a widow. I'm not even sure what I am ready to be at the beginning of yet... or what this new chapter of my life will be or look like. All I know, is that I am ready for change again... or at least as ready as I'll ever be.


You can view the full "Still, Life" photo series on my blog: 12moc.com

Birthdays & Beginnings

Today was my fiance's birthday. The third year without him here. You always think it's going to get easier. And you never really have any clue how it's going to hit you. That's no mystery to me. I've been dealing with the milestone of my mom's birthday for over 20 years now since she died... and some years are just harder than others, for no real reason at all. I gave up long ago trying to understand the "why" of all this.

I feel like this 3rd birthday has been even harder than the 2nd without him. Maybe this is because it is the same amount of birthdays I shared WITH him... we only had 3 short years together. As I'm writing this, I'm thinking it has a lot to do with it. This officially kicks off the first of many milestones this year that are going to be even harder than last year, for that one reason. By June, I will officially be entering into having lived more time after his death than I actually had with him. It's heartbreaking, even now just thinking of it. And it's weighed so heavily on my heart today that I've scarcely even had words.

There were some highlights to the day. My mother-in-law and I went to get pedicures in the morning. Cute toes always make a day better. We did a little shopping and then had a blast out on the ranch ridiculously exploding a pink pony piñata - because sometimes you just need to blow some shit up. I will admit, that felt crazy good. And afterwards, my in-laws and I went out for a really nice dinner. There was a lot of good in the day actually, I have to admit that.

But still... under the surface has been that feeling of the lurking 3 year mark. And that's not the only new thing that's entering into my life right now either. Simultaneous to this whole 3 year milestone, I have also met someone.... new.

There has been wonder and joy and excitement again with this new person. And warmth and support and understanding. It has been so beautiful. He cracked a beer at midnight with me last night - just to celebrate Drew's birthday. He gets me. And I have laughed more in a few short months than I think I had in the entire past 2 1/2 years.

But there also days when I've just had to run off, and create distance from this new person, because being vulnerable feels too hard. And moments when I've been paralyzed by the fear that I will let this person matter so much, and then he will die too. There have been times when I've wanted nothing more than to fall into this new man's arms... And times when I have wanted nothing more than to fall into the arms of my fiancé again - not this new person - because that is truly where I feel the most safe. All of this, the great stuff and the hard stuff, its a lot to take in. To put it plainly, goddamn, this shit is just terrifying.

One of the worst aspects: I hate knowing that - for the rest of my life - I am going to have this fear of the person I am with dying on me. I really, really hate this. I miss the innocence of believing blindly that the odds were in my favor. Now, I know different... and I wish I didn't. I wish none of us did.

This post is really sort of a rambling mess, I didn't plan what to talk about or think through this at all. It's just whatever is going on in my head right now. I am confused, and a bit scared right now. About life. About death. About what lies ahead.

In a few months, I will be exactly as far away from his death as I was the day I met him... and I think this realization has been bubbling up under the surface for a while now. Well, I know it has, I've feared it since he first died. I still cannot even fathom hitting this landline of a mark in June. I cannot even fathom how difficult a time it is going to be... and how much I may regress back into my grief - which makes me want to distance and turn off from the world and be alone. And then I think of this new person, and how much I'd like him to keep being here, but also how scary it is to bring someone else into my world at a time when I may really need a lot of space. I'm confused, and sad tonight. And all I really want is to talk to my best friend, to tell him Happy Birthday, to talk about this new man with him, and to express how scary this year's milestones are going to be. God, why can't we just pick up the phone and call each other?

Wiping Away the Fears

For two years and nine months now... I have had one of those weird widow "things" that I have done. Or really that I haven't done. For all of these days, weeks, months, and years... I have not cleaned the bathroom mirror. Not once. The reason for this is simple, and anyone widowed will likely understand. When I shower every morning, I get out and look up at the fogged glass of that mirror... and across it are the faint streaks of a hand that once wiped it clean. A hand much bigger than mine.

For two years and nine months, I have been comforted by this... every time the mirror fogs up, there he appears again. For that moment, I can still believe that my fiancé is somehow right around the corner. I can believe that he is nearby even though I can't see him - just like his handprint on the mirror has been there all along, even when I can't see it. It has been a daily reminder to believe his love and his spirit still exist despite his body not being here anymore.

For two years and nine months, I felt right about leaving that mirror dirty. Covered in dust and little bits of toothpaste and soap down near the faucet. But then something shifted. A few weeks ago, when getting out of the shower and looking at it - the thought entered my mind for the very first time to CLEAN it. It came as naturally as could be. Just there, so nonchalantly. I didn't analyze it or force it to be there. Almost as if he was whispering to me, that it was time.

I stood and looked for long time, trying to decide if I would do it. Ultimately, on that day, I decided "not quite yet" and left it. For a few more weeks, each time I looked at it, I would think about it... "Not today". It was a gentle thought, and one I was able to hold without being upset. And then this past week, finally, after sitting with this idea long enough... I looked up and did the same thing I've done for the past month. As soon as I asked myself if I should do it, a sticker that said "broken hearts club" that I had taped to the mirror fell off. It's never fallen off before, and has been there for months. I decided, well, that was it then. He's telling me "just clean the damn mirror already!" And with that, I grabbed a clean rag and took a deep, thoughtful breath, and made a bold swipe across the mirror.

As I cleaned the fog and those final remnants of his touch off the mirror... I didn't see the erasing of him, but instead, I saw me. Instead of feeling like I was losing a piece of him, I felt like I was clearing away the things I had been clinging to and was able to see myself more clearly than I have in years. Without the dust. Without the dirt and grime. I marveled at the metaphor in front of me. How tightly I've been clinging to the tangible things that remind me of him these years. And how suddenly I am standing in this place... ready to begin to see myself more clearly. And ready to allow him to live in my heart.

It felt like a huge shift to feel unattached to that mirror finally - a release - because it means that I am beginning to trust that he is in me and with me always and I can never lose him again. He is no longer in that handprint on the mirror. He is everywhere, all the time. And as I'm beginning to trust more fully in that, the mirror became just a dirty mirror - without any power over me.

How bright everything looked once it was clean. How much brighter my own eyes looked as I watched my reflection looking back at me. I smiled, because now I have a clearer, brighter view of myself and I also have him - just as present as he has ever been. He didn't disappear like I feared. And with every one of these sorts of milestones of loosening my grip, I discover yet again that I can no more lose him from my life than the sky can lose its stars. It is just not possible, and not something I ever have to fear.

Both Feet In

This past week, a friend of mine shared a story with me about a woman she recently met while out shopping for boots at a western store. As they looked through the sale rack, the woman told her how she got through the death of her husband by promising herself a new pair of cowboy boots every time she had to do something hard in relation to her grief… like going to the mortuary, or collecting his will. Eventually, she had a whole shelf of them and she wore them everywhere she went. "Even to church" she said. "I medicated myself with old western movies and cowboy boots". My friend, who is actually a grief counselor, fully endorsed her grief medication. 

This woman's story made me smile instantly, and reminded me of my own boot story. About a month after my fiancé's sudden death, in June of 2012, on a horrible, grief-laden, sunny afternoon in Dallas, I walked my shell-shocked self into a local western store with one specific goal. To buy a pair of boots. Not just any boots, but THE boots. Golden tan with beautiful blue inlaid wings and red hearts. Meticulous stitching and hard soles for dancing, and walking a hard road. They were boots I had swooned over for the entire length of my relationship with Drew. The ones that were "too expensive and unpractical" to ever actually buy. The boots that were too bold and showy for me. 

At least... for the old me. 

The widowed me though, didn't give a shit about any of that. She didnt care about being too showy nor did she care about how expensive they were. So she walked into that western store, dropped $300 down, and walked out with the goddamn boots because she wanted them and she damn well deserved them. It felt SO GOOD. I knew right then and there, that these were the boots that were going to carry me through this mess. It was a glimmer of hope. When I walked this hard road, I would do so with wings on my feet. I would do so boldly, and proudly, and without apology to anyone. Those wings would always remind me of the pilot I love and of his zest and passion for life. They would remind me to keep on living, and that I can still be whoever I want to be.

I wore them to every art opening I showed my artwork in, I wore them to work, hell I wore them grocery shopping. Every time I put them on, it felt like wearing the essence of our love for all to see. Because we were bold. We lived and loved boldly and fearlessly together. We left no room for regrets and always walked a bit more confidently out into the world when we had each other. 

The boots provided some piece of that back, some reclaiming of my own power despite everything falling apart. They gave me a way that I could say to the world (and to myself) - I am still here and dammit, I am going to choose to live. I'm not going to lie down and let this destroy me. It may take months and years to get back to living life more fully again - but until then, these boots will remind me of the promise to myself - and to him - to keep on living life. 

Sure, you can see this sort of thing as silly. Or frivolous. Or a waste of money. And before he died, I did a good job of that. But when you're down in the pit, things look very different. It's dark down there. And pretty damned hopeless. And maybe, just maybe, a simple thing like a pair of fine-ass boots isn't so frivolous. It reminded me that no matter how broken I felt, I could still create my own hope by the choices I made, even the seemingly small ones. 

As it turns out, those boots became a symbol not just to live boldly. They became a reminder that I had the power to decide what would carry my feet through the day… and that was the first step towards knowing I had the power to choose how I would carry myself through this entire experience of living with his death. They reminded me to choose each day to try and live what's left of this life boldly, and with both feet in. 

“It Isn't Fair”

I recently overheard a widowed woman sharing about her experience and of being still in a very painful place with it all after 4 long years. Granted in widowhood, that isn't an extremely unusual circumstance. But I do think sometimes we err on the side of being so careful with those grieving that we do not say some more blunt perspectives that could also be helpful to individuals. I don't know that they would be, but I'm willing put it out there and find out I guess. I could be entirely wrong, you all may let me know.

So this woman was expressing that she is still in so much deep pain, and wishing she wasn't. She obviously felt as if she was “behind” in some way with her grieving. And then she went on to say that one phrase that really bugs me... “It isn't fair!”

Well no, DUH, it's not fair. It isn't fair that you lost someone you love earlier than your wanted to. It isn't fair that I did either. None of this is FAIR. I'm not even sure why this feels so harsh to say – we've been telling five year olds this for decades. But somehow it doesn't seem to sink in. And it's entirely true... life isn't about fairness. It never has been. It never will be. I didn't make the rule… and I don't like it anymore than the next person. But there it is. It's been this way since the dawn of time. I don't know when we all started thinking it was supposed to be fair - probably always. But why? Who ever said that to have a happy life meant a life without pain? That a peaceful or fulfilling life was a life without unfairness? That the horrible stuff will always just happen to someone else? It doesn't work like that.

I learned this lesson pretty early in life. When my mom died, I was nine years old. My dad was a handicapped alcoholic widower that had no clue what to do with a 9 year old girl. That certainly wasn't fair to anyone in the situation, me or him. He worked very hard to provide a roof over my head, food for me to eat, clothes, and kept me in a good private school. He started going to AA meetings and even stopped drinking for a good while, too. But he was also an emotional mess. And he bottled up everything. And he sat around his entire life saying to himself “it's not fair”. I watched this statement eat away at him over all the years of my life, until he died from complications of heart and lung disease when I was 26. He never remarried. He never dated. He never really even made new friends hardly. I watched the mental and emotional anguish that comes from sitting inside of those three words "it's not fair" for too long. From being the victim of your circumstance for too long. Perhaps that is why I feel so strongly about this phrase and about owning it instead of letting it own ME. Naturally, I don't want to end up like him. 

This, being widowed, is NOT fair. Absolutely it is not. I would not wish this experience on my worst enemy. And while there is a certain amount of time – which can only be decided by us – that we do need to sit and gravel in that unfairness... there also comes a time to own that statement. There comes a time when we must grab hold of it and not let it take us down. A time when we must stand up and say that phrase in a different sort of way. “Life owes me nothing” is how I changed it up for me. It's harsh, and not flowery, but it's absolutely what I need to remind me that happiness isn't just going to show up on my doorstep after a certain amount of time. I am going to have to WORK.

This phrase reminds me that it's up to me to decide everything that happens from here on. It's up to me to make something out of the aftermath of his death, and find a way for his memory and his life to live on. It's up to me to create meaning from all this pain. To drag myself through the mud screaming if that is what it takes to work through it. And to reach out my hand to someone else and help pull them through the mud when they get stuck there... because I think that is where the most meaning can be made – in seeing just how much we can give and receive from each other. It is also where I am finding balance to the unfairness.

No, my story is not fair. But losing this one incredible man has brought into my life a string of other hearts which I have influenced and who have influenced me in ways I never imagined. It takes work to open up to that. Really fucking hard work. I want to close off and shut down and let his death ruin my life sometimes. It takes work every day still - even two and a half years later. Some days I am still crawling through the mud. But I'm beginning to see now that this idea that a happy life is one without pain is totally false. I'm beginning to see just how beautiful this unfair life can be if I work for it and keep my heart open. I'm beginning to see that maybe there are reasons that so much pain has happened to me… because I am someone who can do something with it. Change it into something else. Help another because of my experience. And that is not just me, but also you. We all have that capacity. 

Life does not owe me happiness. That means that I have choices every single day to move towards something or sit in the unfairness. Some days, I say no, and I sit in the unfairness of it all. Hell, I did that most of the morning today. Sometimes I need to. But eventually, I remember that phrase "life owes me nothing". And soon enough I get up and go looking for my happiness, or my peace, or some meaning and purpose. For something that is positive. It is up to me to work for it, to find it, to make it when I can't find it, and to give it to someone else who needs it once I've got it. I suppose that is why I am writing this to begin with, after all. It was a bad morning, and I decided to make something out of it. Hopefully it finds its way to someone who needs it. 

Losing My "Widginity"

Ok. So. A LOT of things have happened in the past week for me. And just days ago, one of the biggest new firsts happened. One I have wondered about and feared and dreaded for two and a half years. I can't even believe I'm going to share this... like, PUBLICLY, but it's part of the journey. So here goes.

I spent this past week up in the Alaskan wilderness with Drew's mom, grandma, and aunt. His grandma is 91 years old and had never seen the northern lights, so we decided to take her. The trip was wonderful. We stayed at a remote lodge an hour and a half north of Fairbanks... and by remote I mean there is NOTHING out there but this lodge, some moose, and pure wilderness. No cell service. No internet. All their power is geothermal from the hot springs that run through the area. I had no idea of all this until we arrived, but I welcomed unplugging from the world for a while. So rarely do I get a chance to.

We went out Tuesday night for a viewing up on one of the nearby hills for the lights – and they were out all night long. For 4 whole hours, we enjoyed an incredible show. His grandma got to achieve one of her lifelong dreams. I captured pictures of the entire expereince for her and all of us to look back on. We also did a short sunset flight, a dogsled ride (yes, a 91 year old woman on a dogsled! And she wanted the ride to be even longer!) and got to drink appletinis out of glasses carved from ice. Spending this trip with two generations of my fiance's family was so incredibly special to me. To be there to watch his grandma enjoy a lifelong dream for him – my heart overflowed. To see the lights myself, to watch them dance thru the sky, brought me to tears. Because he brought me there. And he keeps bringing me to amazing places in this “after” life.

But something else happened on this trip. And its crazy and weird as shit to actually write this in conjunction with all I just wrote above... but... a VERY big personal milestone happened.... involving several beers and a VERY handsome young man who worked as a waiter at the lodge restaurant. Yeah, you know where I'm going with this. Everyone... after two and a half years, I officially lost my “widginity” as I am calling it - or widow virginity. 

And yeah that's an entirely appropriate way to say it I think, because the first time after the death of your loved one really is JUST as big of a deal as the real first time. Every first thing is. The first time someone holds you. The first time you kiss someone.  Hold hands. And definitely the first time you have sex. Everyone does this differently. Some folks jump right into it, others have to wait years. I have never been an impulsive person nor have I ever had casual sex before, so, I have ended up in the latter category. Sometimes unwillingly. I cannot express to you how many times I just want to be able to go ho it up. Don't judge, you know if you aren't ho'ing it up, you probably harbor this same secret wish... or you will at some point.

So as it goes down, I'm on the last night of my trip, at the lodge bar having a few drinks with the staff as they wind up for the night. Before long, an especially delicious looking waiter ends up joining me for drinks after his shift. I mean this guy could be a model. There is not an ounce of fat on him and muscles galore. Seriously not someone I would ever attempt to approach... then again, the new me lately seems to be full of surprises.

We chat a good while and get to know each other. When we leave the bar, we run into each other out on the trail back to our rooms. We chat a moment there in the cold, snowy wilderness, and I just think to myself “it's my last night, it's now or never, fuck it!”. I grab this gorgeous man and give him a kiss. Which leads to some heavy making out. Which leads to my asking to go back to his cabin.

Yeeeep. That's where it all happens... right there on the mattress... which is on the floor. Yes, the floor. It was like a Dirty Dancing sequel y'all. All we were missing was that "Hungry Eyes" song (which I so should have played since I have the soundtrack on my phone - damn the delayed realization!) This story is made even better by the fact that he had no bathroom... so I am forced to run the 30 or so feet to his outhouse in the cold (NINE degrees) in nothing but a blanket and my snow boots. Yes. You are welcome for the visual. Ah where life takes you when you live in the present moment - lol. 

All joking aside, the amazing thing is, it was nothing like I feared it would be. It wasn't traumatic. It didn't trigger me drastically. It didn't feel shallow or empty or like I was pushed into anything. We laid in bed, drank chocolate milk, watched comedy specials, laughed together, shared stories, and took our time with all the rest. I told him back at the bar about losing Drew, so that was out there already. Before anything happened, I was also very up front that this is the first time for me since he died. I wanted him to know that beforehand, because I was pretty sure I'd get upset at some point, and he needed to know why. I also said it so he could know this was a very deliberate and conscious decision which he needed to handle carefully and respectfully. 

Sure enough, shortly after we began to make love, I got overwhelmed. We stopped, and he just held me, and I cried in his arms for a few minutes while he reassured me that it was okay. I didn't have to say a word. In that moment, even though he barely knew me, all this man cared about was making certain I felt safe and cared for. And even though I barely knew him, and he was not Drew, I allowed myself to be cared for by him. I allowed myself to be cared for. That is HUGE. It was strangely beautiful to think - while in the arms of another man - how much it would make Drew happy to see me being cared for so lovingly. I swear I could feel broken pieces of my heart melding back together. 

We made love on and off for a few hours that night before he finally walked me back to my room. I say “made love” because it felt surprisingly like that, despite the fact that we barely knew each other. We weren't two broken people trying to use sex as a band-aid, we were two healthy people who made a conscious choice to share something beautiful together for a night. I've never had casual sex before this, so I honestly had no idea there could be love between near strangers that way. I was left so surprised by this - and even more surprised that I did it. I mean, who is this chick?! Ho'ing it up now whenever she damn well pleases, on her own terms,  and not beating herself up one bit about it? Whoever she is, I think I like her. My god I am full of surprises in this damned "after" life. 

The most wonderful part of this entire experience though was something even bigger. Seeing how it fit together with my love for Drew. It didn't make his space in my heart smaller. It didn't move him farther away from me or erase him or make my love for him any less. He was there in my heart, just the same, even through this experience. And when it was all over, and this sweet man walked me back to my room, kissed me one last time with a coy smile, and we said our goodbyes... I knew in a brand new way, that no one will ever be able to move Drew from my heart. No one will take his place. No one will erase him or take up more room than him in my heart. I learned in a brand new way that my heart will only get bigger to accommodate others, but that it will only begin to grow when it is healed enough and ready to. I think because I have not rushed this, and because I have waited until I truly felt ready, it has allowed it to be a positive experience. In the past few days following all this, it has only more deeply solidified the understanding in me that Drew isn't ever going anywhere. And I never have to be afraid - because I will not ever lose him twice. 

Brave Love

I'm writing you tonight from my hotel room in Seattle – en route to a four-night stay in Alaska. I hadn't really given any thought to what I was going to write today for this post, as I've spent the better part of the day running around like crazy. It could have been about the usual stuff of Valentine's Day... like how bitchy I've been all week leading up to today. Or how I went into Walgreens yesterday for some picture hanging wire and was assaulted by the pink and red décor that vomited all over the store interior. Or about how sad I was when I woke up this morning or how hard I've tried to stay off of Facebook all day.

I am lucky that I've spent most of today at the airport, lugging around an ungodly amount of camera gear and luggage. After all, this trip is with my mother-in-law and her mother... which is very sacred to me. Two generations of his family and me. Our “Valentine's Dinner” was not exactly fancy. Some cheese and fruit in a tiny cardboard container with a plastic cup of white wine – some 30,000 ft in the air halfway between Texas and Washington. But that suited me just fine, nothing traditional. 

But what I really wanted to share is what my evening was about. And just why I am up at 3am Texas time still writing this. Once we finally got into our hotel room and settled in, I called one of my closest friends. It wasn't to share the usual laughter or the depression of the day's events. It wasn't for me to cry about how much I miss my late-fiance. But instead, she opened up to me about some very deep emotional stuff that she has been burying from most everyone in her life for a long time now. So much so that it has led to some very dark thoughts.

As she shared, I remained solid and unwavering. I listened to everything she had to say, and I assured her that all her feelings – even the suicidal thoughts – were okay. I mean hell, if anyone understands what it's like to not want to live anymore, it's widowed people – am I right?

I did not judge her. I did not try to fix her. I just loved her. And reminded her very strongly that no darkness inside her could be enough to chase me away. I will be here always to sit next to her in there as long as we need to until we can find that first pinprick of light together. And so we sat, together, for over an hour... until I began to hear the tone in her voice shift ever so slightly. Until I began to hear the weight in her voice just a hair lighter than before. Even manged to make her laugh a few times in there too.

After we got off the phone, I hopped in the shower and kept thinking of it all. I was so surprised at how calm I was. How unshakable my dedication was to this friend. And how well I was able to listen and make them feel safe and heard. The person I was before I met My late-fiance could have never done this. The girl I was then would have been so scared by the vulnerability of the situation that she wouldn't have been able to hear that friend. The person I was before Drew died did not have enough of her own darkness to be able to strut into someone else's so fearlessly either.

I started to realize... Drew was the first person in my life to model for me that kind of love. Real and deep and unconditional love. Always he was solid, and reliable, and steadfast as a friend. And over time, without my knowing it, I began to infuse those same qualities in myself. This happened even more so after his death - when others sat with me in my darkness, I learned again how to better do it. 

And suddenly tonight, I realized that perhaps I have more of his qualities in me now than I ever knew. And I saw what a truly vital gift he gave me in his death. I chose the possibility of pain for the privilege to love. It did not matter that I could be hurt if this dear friend one day chooses to end her life. Because loving her matters more. Because she matters that much. And because of his life, and his death, I was able to be there for her in a way no one else has been able to.

So this Valentine's Day for me was not about the chocolates or the flowers I didn't get. Or the person who wasn't here to hold or kiss. Yes, those things were there – and they were sad. But more so, it was about being able to give someone real love – deep, unconditional, open-hearted love – and meet them in their most vulnerable and fearful place. This year, Valentine's Day was not about what I do not have, but about what I have to give still. It was about Brave Love.

A House for his Soul

There's a story I've been wanting to share here for a while now. It is one my grief counselor has encouraged me to tell, as he's felt it could be of help to others. So here goes. It's been roughly two and a half years since my fiancé died, very suddenly, in a helicopter crash. I've gone through unimaginable pain. I've wanted to climb out of my own skin. I've wanted to rip apart every synapse in my brain for the constant knowingness that he is never coming back. I've been angrier than I've ever known possible. I haven't given up though… I have kept on fighting as every new wave of this journey washes over me.

Things are easier now. I'm not as angry as I used to be. I'm learning to sit with my pain better. I'm learning not to apologize for where I need to be at any given time with my life and my world. I'm making new friendships, I'm building a new and meaningful career following what I feel like I am meant to do. Most days now, my life is more filled with current-day thoughts and activities than it is of the past. He is still always there. There isn't a day that goes by that I am not thinking of him. Missing him. But as I have begun to return to life… our relationship is changing. He is still at the center, but Now, my new life is the center too. And that leaves the question which I have struggled with for probably the past six months or so: Just where do I put him now? In this new life?

It's a question I never really understood in the beginning… the idea that he would somehow NOT be the full center of my world anymore was just so hard to grasp. And also felt horrifying. And it has been something I have struggled with a lot this past year. As I made new friendships, new memories with those friends, new accomplishments in a new career, I struggled with where he fit into all of this. How to have both of these worlds living inside me at the same time.

And then one night, I was just arriving home from a night class. I live out in the country where you can see a sky full of stars… so I often stop as I am walking in the house just to gaze up for a while and take it all in. As I admired the dark, I noticed the neighboring house in a way I never had before. Set quite a few miles off from our ranch, this house sits up on the horizon, and at night the entire thing is lit up with a warm glow. Every single night.

Now I've seen this house and it's warm light in the night for years… it is always there, off in the distance. And I always look out at it when I come home in the evenings. But on this particular night, something or someone whispered a thought to me as I looked up at it. A thought of my fiancé. And an intuitive feeling that I think maybe came right from him. "Maybe it is like he is just over there now?"

It was a small idea that I took and ran with… and began creating a story around in my head. And the story is that, perhaps - in a way - he is just next door now, instead of right beside me. Perhaps on warm summer nights, he's sitting out on his back porch with a cold beer wondering fondly what I am up to... while I am soaking in the hot tub out back doing the same. There is a peacefulness to it. And almost a relief… for I feel like this narrative has helped me with a question I have struggled with greatly this past year… knowing just where to put him in my life as things begin to move forward. Not wanting to leave him behind, but not wanting my world to be entirely about him anymore because it simply cannot be if I am to create a happy life again.

We still love each other deeply. We still miss each other. But we know we each have a new and different life to live - him in the afterlife, and me here in mine.

The idea makes me feel comfortable with going out into the world and living my new life that he is not physically part of. It is a tangible reminder for me that when I return home, he is always just there… in the warm glow of the house on the horizon.

Living with "After" Shock

Something I feel many people don't understand about losing your partner is that there are many, many subsequent losses. It's something all of you understand, or will come to. Like aftershock from an earthquake, they continue to shake our foundation for YEARS after the initial tragedy. It can be the smallest things, like the first time you have to take out the trash or eat alone. Or the really big things like first holidays without them or moving from the place you called home together. But it's also the joyful things, like landing a new job or winning an award, making new friends or dating someone new. Every single event or change in your life from the moment they die is another loss - another layer of having to come to terms with the fact that they aren't here and aren't coming back. Another small step of letting go in order to move forward. Not letting go of them, but letting go of what would have been to make room for what is and will be.

I've had several such tremors recently. One of which was attending a professional development workshop for artists. This workshop was kind of a big deal. I had to submit a portfolio of my artwork along with an artist statement to even be considered. They only chose 22 people to be part of the workshop. And I was chosen. So last weekend, I hauled myself the hour and a half to Austin - not knowing what to expect. I was nervous, but excited. The workshop was great. It was lead by two very well established business women from NYC - one who works with artists and creative companies of all sizes on strategic and business planning, and the other a successful artist who now helps other artists all over the country through this workshop series. As I sat there, I felt full of excitement. And promise. And possibility. It was just the opportunity for helping me take the next steps of building this new career and life in my "after" life.

As the day unfolded, I began to see more clearly for the first time that this path will require me to grow into a person I am not yet. To learn how to approach galleries, curators, museums, magazines, etc. To learn how to speak professionally about my work and how that must differ depending on the setting and person. And if I ever hope to do speaking engagements about art and grief - I will need to develop my almost non-existent public speaking skills too. 


What I didn't expect though, is the aftershock.

So there before me, in this class, lay the outline of just how much change and growth will potentially happen if I step fully into this path ahead. Suddenly, I began feeling this backward pull - this resistance. Of course resistance to anything new is natural, but this was more than just the typical fears of being out of my comfort zone. It was the fear of stepping more fully OUT OF the life he and I shared together and the person I was when I was with him. It means stepping into becoming a woman he did not yet know me to be. 

I felt backed up against a wall… not wanting to make those steps, not feeling ready to walk away yet from the remnants of our life together. And at the same time, wanting what that future could be with a deep burn inside me… knowing that this path will be the best way I can honor myself and him.

Such a mix of emotions. Wanting to go full speed ahead, but not wanting to let go. Even though I still feel just as connected to him as I have, I still fear that letting go more will somehow mean I will lose him more. Nothing has proven this logic - yet still, it's quite a real fear. Will I always have this fear? Every step forward - will it test my ability to trust that he will remain with me just as strongly no matter where I go and what I do? Perhaps. Or maybe it will get easier to trust over time. For now, I'm just taking it all in, paying attention, trying to learn what I can from it… and trying to be as brave as I am able to be. And also, as gentle as possible with myself. I don't have to rush, or push too far ahead too fast. I can take things on as I feel strong enough, bit by bit. Or as my fiancé used to say… "how do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time". It always made me smile. Remembering today to be okay with where I am at, and to trust that he will be with me fully as I move more fully into a new life.

Neighbors of the Heart

It's been a few weeks since I shared about going on my first date with someone since my fiancé died. I have been through every wave of emotion imaginable since then. I have cried buckets of tears for how much this experience has made me miss my fiancé. For how much all of this is bringing up old familiar memories and joys I shared with him those years ago. For how much it makes me miss the safety and rock solid trust that I had with him. I have felt paralyzed by the fear of being vulnerable with another man in ANY way. Of allowing any man into that space in my world again - the space where I cry, the space of allowing myself to be comforted. The space my fiancé has held so powerfully in my heart all these years. His space.

I have also felt joy, and butterflies in my stomach, and a giddiness that has been so delightful. I have felt excited by the idea that someone is thinking of me in this light. And I have enjoyed thinking of them in this light too. So all of this, both extremes, have been rushing through me at the speed of light.

I honestly did not expect things to go anywhere after that lunch date. I thought I wasn't ready… not even for the slightest romantic experience. I thought he would fade out of the picture pretty quickly. But since that first date, to my surprise, we've talked pretty much daily. And despite the fact that his presence has triggered a tsunami of emotions in me, I have still found myself feeling open to it. There is something so strangely comfortable about him - it's felt very quickly like old friends. In some unexplainable way, I feel like he's here for a reason.

Last night, we went on a second date - a dinner date. And I cannot remember the last time someone made me laugh so much. Well, that's not true. I can precisely remember… because it was my fiancé - every day together. He lived to make me laugh. It's one of the things I miss the most about him. It has been two and a half years now since someone has made me laugh like that. Since anyone has even cared about making me laugh. So last night felt so beautiful. More than words can say. To have someone care about making me laugh… especially when they know I've had a really hard week with the holidays. How often really does anyone do that for us? Not often at all.

There was another moment that meant even more to me though. More than he'll ever know. It was when we walked back to his truck after dinner. "This is SO WEIRD… because I miss someone else" I said, starting to get visibly upset. He hugged me tightly and said, "I know, and you'll always miss him". My heart nearly burst with those words and I held onto him with everything I had for a few minutes.

Maybe it was just a second date, and maybe I have no idea if this even goes anywhere at all… but in that moment, he gave me a priceless gift. He gave me a small glimpse into what it means to meet a person who is accepting of who I am and respectful of this person's place in my heart forever. He gave me hope I can all find someone who makes sure to let me know there is more than enough room for me to love my fiancé forever.

For almost three years now I have had NO idea how on earth a new man could possibly fit into my world. "I'm too complex. My life is too complicated. Who is going to want to deal with all of this?" I have said many times. "How could any of that possibly work? How could it not just feel like a battle trying to be won in my heart? How could there be room for two people in my heart?" countless other times.

This experience over the past few weeks has made me realize, yes, I am complex and so is my life. But that complexity does not mean I am a burden. In fact it very well may be the opposite… because this complicated life has also made me more lovable, more open, more compassionate, more accepting, and more beautiful. And there are people out there who are looking for that kind of complex beauty in another soul, and who will appreciate it in me.

This experience has also taught me that when new people come into our lives, it doesn't mean that there is less space in our hearts for the person we lost and still love. I have always feared that. But I'm discovering it's not true. Our hearts grow when we let in new people - be it friends or more - and there becomes an entirely new piece of heart created there just for them. They never replace any part of us that loves the one we've lost. They live instead as neighbors of the heart, alongside each other, strengthening and healing our heart in a way we never imagined possible - and doing so together.

Complex Christmas and An Inspiring Story

Jayci at her grandfather's grave. Source

This morning I was watching the news and saw a feature about a young girl - 14 years old - who is working hard to achieve a very special Christmas goal. Her wish, is to put a wreath on every single grave at Fort Sam Houston National Cemetery here in San Antonio, TX. To date, there are over 144,000 graves of fallen soldiers buried here. To say it is a big goal is an understatement. They have yet to reach that goal in a single year, but she is relentless. Partnered now with Wreaths Across America, she does 15 or 20 speaking engagements and fund raisers around the San Antonio, TX area in the fall to help raise money and bring in volunteers for this massive effort. The focus and resolve are nothing short of incredible to watch - particularly in someone so young.

I could not help but be completely inspired by the boldness and determination of her spirit. It allowed me to put my own pain aside for a moment and think about just how many ways on any given day there are to do something to remember or appreciate those who have died - whether as soldiers or otherwise.

It is one of those things that my fiance's death has changed in me for the better. Now I know first-hand what it means to the loved ones of the fallen for them to be remembered. My fiancé was not in the military - though he wanted nothing more than to do so, a back injury prevented him from being allowed to enlist. Regardless of that, I still know what it feels like when someone does something to show me they remember him - like leaving something at his grave, or sharing a memory, or donating in his honor. It means more than words can describe. You all get that.

I've been stuck in my own pain this past week - stuck thinking about how I'm sick of Christmas and ready for all this holiday mess to be over with. Year three without him is no better. Less scary for sure, less traumatic, but still I am able to muster only apathy for the entire affair. Even though I will be deeply happy to spend Christmas with his family - whom is now very much my own family - all the time leading up to that day is just an assault on the emotions. People talking about nothing but how behind they are on getting presents for everyone… when all you're thinking as you hear them is how lucky they are to still have all of their people in tact to give presents to.

I hate this. I want to be able to enjoy the season. I want to be able to just enjoy things the way other people do again. I want a simple holiday season where all I'm worried about is getting the Christmas shopping done and making sure food is cooked. But it is so far from my reality - Complex Christmas.

That's is why I am so glad I caught this feature on tv this morning though. This story about the wreaths got me out of my own pain and woke me up to the possibility that - if I pay attention and look for it - there are ways that I could use the holiday season to help me find meaning. If I make USE of Christmas as a way to connect to other folks who are enduring a complex Christmas - whether due to death, illness, financial strains, etc - maybe I could reclaim a bit of the good in this season. Maybe I could actually be able to find more than apathy in this time of year again.

There are all kinds of ways to do this… and even though it won't bring him back or make Christmas simple like it used to be, it would feel good, and make others feel good who might really need it too. That part of it I can get behind. I know that's not rocket science, but I think you get it. We get stuck in our heads so easily in the midst of grief and trauma. We have blinders on much of the time. And it can be hard see anything that can help it.

Today, I'm really grateful that a young girl doing big things helped me to take the blinders off for a while and begin to think about what I can do in the next few days that could bring meaning back to Christmas - not only for me, but for someone else. We'll see what I come up with.

To donate or find information about Jayci's Wreaths for Heroes project, you can visit her Facebook page.

The First Date.

SO. After two and a half years… it finally happened.

I had my first date this week.

I can't even tell you how this happened. I had no idea this person would be interested and I've never much been interested in him either. It sort of came out of the blue… no real warning, no time for planning how I want to feel about this step. Just… bam, there it is, you're going on a date today.

I haven't even been able to really be friends with men since my fiancé died. It has just felt so weird. But lately, I've found myself feeling more comfortable being around men again. In fact, wanting to be around them. Maybe not romantically per say, but just, be around them. Building friendships with new men actually feels okay right now. Which is a HUGE deal. I used to have plenty of guy friends before, and I miss spending time around that male energy. I really do. So when someone offered to take me to lunch, somehow it didn't feel so awful. Instead of the "HELL NO!" I expected to hear from inside me, there was instead this sort of heavy sigh, which seemed to say "I'm so tired of pushing that away. Yes, please, take me out. I just want to feel what it feels like to be taken to lunch again".

HUGE. super freaking huge. I don't know when this change happened. But somewhere in the past several months I gather it has been growing. My counselor asked a month or two ago how I felt now about the idea of dating and instead of the immediate "nope" I've had for two and a half years… my answer was a very thoughtful "I don't know". That in itself is a big shift. And an unexpected one.

So… the date. It wasn't anything fancy - just a casual friend who recently said he was interested to know me more and offered to take me out for lunch. It felt easy and nonthreatening. He is enough of a friend to already know my story and of my fiancé - so that also made it a little easier, too.

I did plenty of freaking out about it beforehand of course. Because that's what I do now, about anything new since he died. "WHY did I say yes to that?! I'm no where near dating people - what am I doing?!" But then there was the other side of me… the side that is just… just so tired. Tired of being alone. Tired of NO ONE taking me ANYWHERE for two and a half years. Tired of not letting men in at all. And so I suppose that side won. And I decided to just let it be lunch. Like it was. And let it be about getting to know a friend on a little deeper level. Which it was. I decided not to let it mean all these other things. For today, no, I am just going to let a nice guy take me out. I am not going to give a shit what it means or where it goes or doesn't go or whether I'm ready or not ready… I'm just going to enjoy lunch dammit.

And you know what? I did. It was great. We had a really fun time - and the world didn't end afterwards. I realized something while there that surprised me. My whole experience of a date is completely different now than before I met Drew. And it is because I am different now. When I met Drew, I still had a lot of things I was working through in my life. Things that he helped me to heal in our time together. And now, I discovered on that date that all those demons I used to have when I first met Drew weren't in the way anymore. It was a beautiful thing.

I also realized that, because he died, my whole way of knowing people is different. I feel deeply honored when I sit down with anyone and we share our stories - both the good and the bad - with each other now. Sitting across the table from this guy last week was no different. I felt honored to have that exchange. Because time and people are so much more precious to me now than ever before.

It didn't feel wrong. And I didn't feel guilty. And I didn't even have the total nervous breakdown I thought I would have as I drove home. Actually, the opposite.

I just felt proud. I felt proud that I went on a date. I looked that enormous fear right in the face and I just said "Yep, I'm doin it". And I know you all know how totally perplexing and horrifying the idea of the first date is. God I was terrified, but a bigger part of me wanted to face it than was scared of it. And so I guess that is how it happens… when our desire to face our fears finally grows bigger than our fear of them.

Of course the whole thing has still wreaked havoc on my mind and emotions now the rest of the week after. I don't wanna paint a picture that this experience was all roses. Hell no. It triggered all sorts of shit. There are just places in my heart I don't go anymore… and one of those is into how it felt to have a man's attention. Most of the time, I don't even remember what it's like to have someone anymore. That sounds sad probably to some people, but it works for me, for right now. And I've gotten pretty used to it and okay with it.

And now, suddenly the week's events have brought it all flooding back. I remembered all the little things; date nights, learning about a new person, the butterflies and the excitement of the new beginning. And then later, the romantic stuff… movies together, back rubs, flowers, fancy home-cooked dinners, dancing, staying up all night talking and laughing harder than ever together… and just the way it FEELS when you have the attention of someone in that way. I really didn't need to feel all of that universe. Thanks.

I immediately found myself just wishing to skip past all the "getting to know each other"-ness because what I really miss is the deep stuff… the stuff two or three years in when you first learn how to really work well together and become totally cohesive. The total and complete trust. God I miss that. And all the little romantic things too of course… but really, most of all, the trust. It takes SO LONG to build a deep level of trust for me. It took 8 months for Drew to even convince me to go on a date, and by then we were best friends. A guy's gotta pass a LOT of tests to make it into my heart. It feels like climbing five mountains just to think about doing it all over again with someone new. And of course, immediately, I would really rather just have HIM. The person I already chose and wanted forever. UGH.

So there it is. The good and the bad of that whole experience. Honestly, the date couldn't have possibly gone better. And I am very glad I did it. He was polite and respectful, funny, smart, and we enjoyed each other's company. Most of all, I felt like Drew would have been really happy with our date and this fellow treated me. I think that's what made it feel the most okay… that he would have approved.

Despite that, I don't really expect any more to come of it. I don't think I am anywhere near being able to actually date someone new again, and so I'm quite happy for us to end up with this one date, and a new friendship. I think it was the best way for a first date to happen really - with no real expectations of anything more to come of it and a desire to be friends. Dipping a toe in the water. Baby steps - that's how we do things in this after life, after all, isn't it?

Death: The Barrier

I thought this week I would share one of the images from my self portrait series and the story behind it. While I was out shooting on the beach for last week’s photograph – wandering the grassy, windswept dunes – I came across a peculiar sight. Every plant on the beach was bright green and vibrant with life that day. Rich olive green sea grasses and succulent fat-leaved emerald vines with ripe yellow flowers. There must have been an unseasonable amount of rain recently because everything was really blushing. You could feel it – like all of nature had just taken in a deep breath.

But then, right in the middle of it all, I noticed this one particular type of plant. They were large – towering over me by at least a few feet. And every single one of them, as far as my eyes could see, over each rolling dune down the beach, was dead. All of them. There was such an eerie metaphoric nature to it… these clusters of death pitted right down in the midst of so much life. It seemed almost deliberate. Certainly hard to miss when you are closely observing a landscape as I often am.

With mosquitos biting boldly at my ankles and arms, (I will remember to add insect repellant to my camera bag from now on!) I grabbed my gear and climbed into a thicket of these otherworldly dead plants to explore. The leaves were a silvery blue-green hue – like faded sage. I had no plan. No idea what I even wanted to capture. I just began shooting, trying different ways of interacting with this mesmerizing space.

It is images like this one that make me realize how important it is sometimes to let go of our plan and follow wherever our feelings and intuition guide us. To not be so alarmed if we do not have a plan, and to trust that one will unfold for us.

Out of all the variations I shot for this image, this is the one that spoke to me instantly. It is because of the personal meaning which began to come out of it for me as I sat with it in the days after shooting. Mostly, it is in the eyes. There is a very specific kind of darkness there – a hollow vacancy which takes me right back to the year of my fiance’s death.

It was June when he died. 2012. I recall by the time autumn arrived, there was so little energy left in me. After endless minutes and hours and days and weeks and months of fighting and cryin – of screaming desperate animal sounds into the air – there came a time when there was nothing left in me but to just sit and stare blankly. And so I did, many days, just sit outside on the back porch at the ranch and stare off into space. Broken. Hollow-eyed. Feeling the cavernous wind against my skin – which only seemed to endlessly whisper of how far away spring was. Or that spring, for “us”, was never coming back again.

I don’t know if others saw this expression externally in those early days or not, but I do know that this is what it felt like on the inside. Every moment of every day for a long time. Vacant. Lost. Staring into nothing. Searching. Without words.

And then death – the quiet, dangerous barrier that divided me from everything. From him. From my future. From my past. From myself. From everyone else. On the other side of his death, I couldn’t see any other part of me or life that once existed. I could not see the woman who loved to rock climb and kayak, or the woman who dreamed of being an artist someday. Or the woman who loved animals and old western movies. I couldn’t see anything but the woman who just lost everything.

When people looked at me from the other side of that barrier – it felt like all they could see about me was death too. As if I was nothing more than the remains of his death and a reminder to them of things they didn’t want to know intimately. With the exception of a few individuals, it felt like no one could see me.

Two and a half years later, the spring is beginning to come for me. Life is starting to be vibrant again. I am able to see the other parts of myself again, as are others, it feels. I am starting to actually love life again – which astounds me to even say. There is still a part of me standing in the thicket of his death though. I think there will always be. And I think there should always be a part of me that stands there. To me, it is the place that always serves to remind me of how glorious the rest of the landscape is that surrounds me in this “after” life. Because when I stop and look around, it really is still so glorious.